No Room for Fear
by NeverDreamsOfMe
Summary: Andrea is the newest racer on the San Diego scene. When she's had enough of her home on the West Coast, she accepts an offer to go to Atlanta. She may meet someone there who persuades her never to go back... Rated for language/drugs/mild lemon. Finished!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Midnight Club 3.

Hey guys =D I've had this fanfic in my head for years; I'm so glad to finally be writing it. Please enjoy!

...

The purr and snarl of revving engines fills my ears as completely as the smell of exhaust permeates my nose. Darkness swallows the beam of my headlights six feet from my car. The stoplight blazes red. In another few seconds, we will start.

I glance to my left. The woman in the car next to mine meets my eyes at the same moment I look. She bares her teeth at me in a growl I cannot hear. Her message is clear: "You're going down." All I do in return is smile. Her shocked expression sticks in my mind as I turn my head back up front. The hair on the end of my ponytail tickles the back of my neck, but to reach back to fix it could cost me my start. A quick shake of my head suffices.

Red still rains down from the stoplight. The clenching in my stomach approaches unbearable. The buildup of apprehension and nervousness will soon be released in a tide of adrenaline. I know this, yet the tension doesn't let up. My hands clench on the wheel and handbrake, my toes curl inside the shoe pressing the gas pedal, my jaw tightens. I've raced so many times before, yet still this is what I always feel before we start.

Red turns into green.

My body automatically responds. My right hand releases the handbrake at the exact moment my foot floors the gas pedal. My engine roars and my head snaps back from accelerations' force. Sweet, hot adrenaline rushes through my skin, but my brain stays cool and calm, rational to the point of almost detatched.

We fly down the ramp, onto the highway. Traffic is still pretty high for this time of night. No problem. My eyes see the other cars and tell my brain I have to avoid them. My arms turn the wheel accordingly. My little Cobalt weaves a streak of purple paint and yellow light through the four lanes. There is no room for panic, no time for fear. Racing is all instinct.

Vanessa keeps pace with me, her headlights at my back passenger-side door. The rest of her posse falls away. We alternate between first and second: my car inches before hers, now she noses her way in front. Neither of us refuses to give.

Three-quarters of the way through the race, Vanessa falls behind me again, but keeps falling. I take this opportunity without thinking and hit the nitrous. My car charges ahead, but my rival will not be foiled. I catch a glimpse of fire spewing from her tailpipes in my rearview mirror before she becomes level with me once more. I take a split second and glance out of my passenger window at her. She's grinning like she's already won.

My eyes snap back ahead, and I blanch. A semi lumbers along at 55 in the middle lane – directly in front of us. I'm close enough to the far lane where only a twitch of the wheel is enough to merge. Vanessa would have rear-ended it, but she jerked her car all the way to the right, almost sending her in a tailspin across the highway.

Her lost ground proves to be an advantage to me. I dash in front of the semi and across the other lane, cutting Vanessa off. Sprinting up the exit lane and across the finish line, I win easily. I spend another second sitting in my car trembling and breathing heavily, my hands still holding onto the wheel like it's my last tie to life. In a sense, it is. One slip, one wrong turn, and I could die.

Like I said, all instinct. No room for fear. If I let the sinuous and slippery voice of fright into my head, I could freeze in the middle of a race and seriously compromise my life. There's nothing more terrifying than street racing.

But the rush and the money I win make it worthwhile.

Vanessa finishes as I'm unbuckling my seat belt. We step out of our cars at the same time. Her friends cross the finish line all around us, like river water parting around a rock. She stalks around the front of her car and stops with her toes to mine, inches from my face.

"You cheated," she snarls, her visage contorted with anger.

"I did not. I took one way around the truck, you took the other."

"You cut me _off_!" Vanessa spits.

I shrug, "Happens all the time in morning rush hour. You don't see anyone stopping and getting up in each others' faces about it. Besides, you were in the better position to exit. Not my fault you were slower getting there."

My nonchalant insult clearly infuriates her further. The shade of red in her face deepens. "I want a rematch."

"This is our third rematch. I've won, Vanessa. Fair and square."

"She's right, V." One of Vanessas' friends, the one who finished after us, steps forward. We both turn to look at him. "She just cut you off, didn't hit you or anything. She won it fair. Just give her the prize money."

We look back at each other. Vanessas' jaw is clenched as she looks at me with hard eyes. Her pride won't allow me to just walk away with her money. Before I was launched into the scene, she was the top female racer in San Diego. Now here I am, just a rookie, and I kicked her ass in all three of her races. She has a reputation to uphold.

But racing protocol is too strong for her to ignore. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a wad of cash, held together with a rubber band. She shoves it into my hand but doesn't let go, grabbing my wrist with her other hand.

"If I see your stupid face around this city again, Rodriguez, you're dead." She hisses. She releases the money and my hand, turns and gets back into her car without another word.

...

=0 I love ending chapters with death threats, don't you? xD Thanks for reading, reviews are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

You know to apply the disclaimer to every chapter, right? Good.

I apologize in advance for any errors in the Spanish. Enjoy!

...

Reaching up, I press the button that opens the garage door. Not to my house, no, though that button sits next to the one I just pushed. I've hardly used it lately. I don't go home unless I absolutely have to.

I let my car roll into 619 Customs. Echoes from my rumbling engine bounce off the concrete floors and walls as I get out and flip the light switch. The big, now lighted, space becomes very quiet as I turn the car off. Usually this place is filled with music, conversation, laughter, and the whirring and pounding of machinery. At night it's quiet but homelike… like the cars are sleeping, dreaming of what they'll be able to do once they're finished.

Speaking of sleeping –

"Ai, _cabrón_, we're closed." A broad-shouldered Mexican man moans as he opens a door at the top of a stairwell on the left wall. He's dressed in a tank top that was probably once white, but is now stained with oil and coffee, and black sweatpants. He peers down at me through squinted, sleepy eyes. They wake up once they see me, though.

"But you're always open for me, _Tío_," I tease.

"Yeah? Well, maybe today I've changed my mind," he counters grumpily. I smile, because I know he's teasing me, too. We exchange this banter every time I come in after hours. Uncle Oscar looks intimidating with his moustache and all his tattoos, but he's really a good guy. He descends the stairs and gives me a big hug. I inhale his personal cologne of Old Spice and motor oil and feel like I've come home.

"So what's the story, _chica_? Whose heart did you break tonight?" Uncle asks, releasing me.

"Vanessas'." I grin, remembering the look on her face when she accused me of cheating.

"Get outta here! That crazy chick?" He exclaims as he claps me on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, 'Drea." The smile he gives me is as big as the moon.

"Thank you, Uncle." I say, glowing. Getting praise from Uncle Oscar makes me feel like I'm doing something right. "Can we check on my baby real quick?" I gesture towards my car.

"Sure thing, _mi hijíta_. I want to hear all about your race."

I lean my right hip into my car, right above the front driver-side tire, and start to relive my night. Uncle Oscar pops the hood and pokes around. It doesn't bother me that he isn't looking at me while I talk like I guess it bothers other people. I know my uncle is giving me his undivided attention. He has for years and he won't stop now.

Occasionally he holds up his hand, palm towards me like a traffic cop, to interrupt and ask for a tool he needs. When that happens, I pause my story and get it for him. He doesn't need to give me directions; I know where everything is. I've been coming to visit Uncle Oscar in his garage ever since I can remember. Cars and racing naturally rubbed off on me. Although I'm no expert on the mechanics, I can help make the cars look nice. An eye for color and aesthetics rubbed off me in the art classes I took in high school. A lot of the customers ask my opinion on the colors of the vinyls or what style rims they should install. Some of our regulars even ask me to customize their cars for them. People come here because they trust my uncle to upgrade their cars so they're wicked fast for a good price - just like they trust me to help them look their best. "I'm the brains, she's the beauty," Uncle Oscar likes to joke.

Otherwise, my uncle is a good audience. He makes the right comments in all the right places ("Uh-huh… no way… really?") and whistles approvingly when I tell him how I crossed the finish line.

"What'd I tell ya, eh? _Loca_." He says when I relate how she almost didn't give me my prize money.

"Completely." I nod in agreement like he can see me – his head is still buried under the hood.

A couple more minutes go by in companionable silence before Uncle Oscar emerges. I follow him to the utility sink in the corner so he can wash his hands.

"You raced her pretty hard there, _chica_," he says over the amplified splash of water in the metal sink, "There wasn't much to look at. We gave her a pretty good tune-up the other day."

"We sure did," I smiled, "She handled like a dream. Thanks, _Tío_."

"No problem, _mi hijíta_. If that's all, you'd better be gettin' on home." He turned to face me, drying his hands on a blue, oil-stained towel.

"Actually, _Tío_… Could I stay with you tonight?"

A sad kind of smile spread across my uncles' face, as if he'd been expecting my question. He hung the towel back up on the side of the sink. Gesturing me to follow, he flicked the lights off in the garage. There was a sort of sigh as the cars, lit only by the streetlamp outside, drifted back into their dreams. Together, my uncle and I climbed the stairs that led to his loft.

...

Thanks for reading! Please review and please stay tuned for Chapter 3 =D


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone =) Sorry I left this so long; I had finals then Christmas and on top of it all I ran into writers' block. But I finally broke through today and finished this =D So this is your holiday present. Enjoy!

...

When I open my eyes in the morning, I see a ceiling as familiar to me as the one in my bedroom at home. I sit up on the bed that pulls out from Uncle Oscars' couch, the blanket still clinging to the front of my hoodie, and look around his living room. Just like your typical bachelor pad, it's messy. Crusty dishes and car magazines litter the coffee table in front of me. The remote for the TV pokes out from underneath one of the pages. Sunlight filters through the dirty windows to my right.

I pull my hair back from my right temple and scratch my head, examining the sun falling on the floor. It caresses my face with warm and loving fingers. I close my eyes and smile, enjoying the sensation. Today is a new and beautiful day.

"Finally, you're awake!" The voice startles me, and I turn back up front. The bit of blanket covering my right shoulder falls. It's only Uncle Oscar, who's waving a "good morning" to me with a spatula from the stove. I can see him because there's a breakfast bar between the living room and the kitchen. I become suddenly aware of the sizzling aroma of sausage and chorizo and realize I'm starving. Pushing the rest of the blanket off me, I scoot off the futon, scampering past the TV and the breakfast bar (which is covered in old newspapers) to sit at the kitchen table.

"Would you like some breakfast,_ dormilona_?" Uncle raises his eyebrows at how fast I sit down.

"Yes please." I grin.

"What if I don't give you any, eh, _chica_?" He asks as he turns back to the frying pan.

"Look how skinny I am, _Tio_. I'm undernourished enough as it is. I would starve to death if you didn't feed me. You wouldn't want to have my death on your conscience, would you?"

My uncle chuckles as he lays a platter each of breakfast burritos and scrambled eggs in the middle of the table. "That I wouldn't," he says, opening the fridge. I get up and grab two glasses and two plates. Uncle Oscar takes the glasses from me and fills one with orange juice. The other he puts away as I lay down forks for us. When he sits down, I've already started eating and he has a mug full of coffee. He offers the pot to me, but I shake my head. I like coffee well enough, but _Tio_ Oscar makes it too strong for me. For a while, the only sounds that we make are the scraping of forks over the plates and sipping our drinks.

"That was great, _Tio_. Thank you," I smile when we've finished.

"No problem, 'Drea. What's on the agenda for today?" Uncle Oscar leans back in his chair and sips some more coffee, looking at me over the mug.

I shrug. "I'm not sure. I have to go home to grab some stuff, though."

My uncle frowns. "What's going on at home, _chica_? You've been sleeping at my place more than at yours."

"The usual." I look away. "It's nothing I can't handle." I can feel his eyes on me and my body heats up with embarrassment. I love Uncle Oscar, but I really hate when he asks questions like that. He knows why I don't go home, or at least the basics. I don't tell him anything else; he has enough to worry about without fretting over me too.

"You know you can talk to me, Andrea." He only uses my full name when he's being serious.

"I know, _Tio_. But really, I'm fine." Still without looking at him, I gather up the dishes, place them in the sink, and start running the hot water. I pour enough Dawn in there for a Thanksgiving dinner, not breakfast for two people. I scrub vigorously, not because the dishes are overly dirty but because I'm trying to wash Uncle Oscars' concerned expression from my mind.

"When you're done at home, you can swing back by the garage. Reuben's been sick so I could use an extra hand." My uncle offers.

"I will, _Tio_." I tell the dishes.

The floor squeaks as my uncle pushes his chair back. He sets his empty coffee mug in the sink and places his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "I'll finish up here, _mi hijita_. You go do what you have to."

"Sure you will. If I didn't clean every time I was here, this place would look ten times worse." I snort. But I look up at my uncle and smile as I hand him the dishtowel. "You sure you can handle it?"

"I suppose I gotta man up sometime." Uncle Oscar takes the towel from me with only two fingers, wrinkling his nose like it's a dirty diaper. We both laugh. I grab my keys and promise to be back in an hour.

…

I turn down my street, and feel nauseous. There's a tension in my stomach again, but it's not at all like the kind I get before a race. It's a sick kind of dread. I never know what I'm going to find when I walk through my front door. I park in my driveway and cut the engine, comparing it to walking into a battlefield without knowing what's out there. Sometimes it's quiet and dead: a ceasefire. Other times I walk right into the crossfire with blood and bullets flying all around me.

Sitting here worrying about what's inside won't get me out any sooner. I take a deep breath and push the button that opens the garage door. It glides open, revealing a white Ford Focus and a dark blue Honda Civic. _Shit._ They were both home. _Like you expected them to be anywhere else?_,the cynical little voice in the back of my head asks. I tell it to shut up, grab my duffel bag, and get out of my Cobalt.

I duck into the shadows of the garage and use my house key (also rarely used) on the "Princess" keychain I got three boyfriends ago. Not my boyfriend – I haven't had one since high school – my mothers', trying to get me to like him. Eventually he went to jail and Mom picked up another guy. Just like she always does.

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A sun-filled yet silent kitchen greets me. I'm not about to ruin it, so I bound around the corner to my left. I grab the banister and whip myself around the tight corner and up the stairs. My Nikes make no sound on the carpet. The door to my bedroom is crowded top to bottom with pictures and drawings. More importantly, it's closed, just how I left it. But that doesn't mean the rest of my room is the same. I gingerly open my door and hear a ripping as I step inside. I smile and reach up to the top of my door. I take the Scotch tape carefully off the wood. I've always been particular about my privacy. Ever since I started racing and been out of the house a lot more, I've pulled out this little trick. Now I can tell if anyone's been in my room. I have important stuff in here I don't want anyone to find.

I look around my room, checking once again to make sure everything is in its' place. My bathroom door to my left is ajar and also covered with pictures. Along the same wall is my closet, the sliding door showcasing posters of movie stars and anime characters. Facing me on the opposite wall is my bookcase, my beanbag chair between it and the window. The pink curtains are drawn, but the strong sun shines through, casting a cherry blossom glow over the white carpet and bedspread, the rose petal walls. Next to the window is my desk, which faces the closet like my bed does. The office chair is pushed in and the lamp stares down forlornly at the place my laptop used to occupy before I moved it permanently to Uncle Oscars'. My dresser takes up nearly the whole wall just beside the door. Makeup, jewelry, my smaller stuffed animals and an assortment of other trinkets litter the top. The larger ones occupy the space from my bed to the corner the dresser leaves free. Though I'm not here often anymore, I still feel at home here. This is my room, my own little corner of the world.

But first things first – I need to change. I walk around to the front of my dresser and open drawers, taking out a fresh pair of socks, a faded pair of indigo skinny jeans, my favorite white tank top, and the pink zip-up sweatshirt Uncle Oscar bought me for my last birthday. I quickly shuck off my clothes and toss them, and the dirty ones in my bag, in the already full hamper – Mom must not be feeling very domestic lately. _I'll have to find a night to do laundry later this week. _After wiggling into my skinnys, I grab as many clean clothes out of my dresser as I can. Turning around to my bed, I shove them in my bag. Urgency fuels my movements. This house is never silent for long.

I take a second between dashing back and forth from my dresser and look in the mirror. My long face, tanned from the constant San Diego sun, is flushed, the color high on my cheekbones. Thick, black hair falls around it in wisps, bangs falling back over my right eye. The visible eye is a deep chocolate rimmed with black eyeliner, smudged from the night before because I'd run out of makeup remover. _Gotta pick up some more at Walgreens'._

The zipper makes a sound like a mini engine as I rip it shut. I turn one last time to my dresser and open the far left drawer. To anyone else, this is my junk drawer, but that's to disguise the importance of what's inside. Reaching all the way to the back, my small fingers close around a small key. I use it to open my jewelry box, which sits at the very corner of my dresser and pushed back towards the mirror. I have a key for two reasons: my expensive jewelry and my racing money are kept in here. I take out the secret compartment at the bottom and quickly count it. It's all here. I add most of my winnings from last night, keeping some for shopping and my own betting.

I've just locked the box back up again and am in the process of putting the key back when I hear my door bang open. I jump violently, instinctively dropping the key in the drawer and slamming it shut. I look up and meet my mothers' bloodshot eyes. _For Christs' sake, it's not even noon._

"Andrea." She raises her arms to me. She's dressed in a baggy gray sweatshirt with the collar ripped out; it falls off one shoulder. It's so big it hangs to her thighs. The rest of her legs are covered with a pair of black leggings that were in fashion about 10 years ago. Her hair is a crows' nest trying to be tamed with a ponytail. "Andrea," she reapeats, "my baby. Why didn't you come home last night?"

"I was out, Mom. Remember? I don't live here anymore."

"Since when don't you live here anymore?" My mom cocks her head, looking like a confused little girl.

"Since I -,"

"Why don't you come home to me, Andrea?" She suddenly shrieks.

"Mom, calm do-,"

"Who were you out with?" Her eyes have grown huge, her face twisted with abrupt anger. "Some guy you just met, some old guy you're fucking for money?" She closes the gap between us in three strides and grips my arm. "Tell me!"

"Let go, Mom! You're hurting me!" I twist, trying to break free, but her hand is like a vice.

At that, her eyes clear somewhat; she becomes lucid. She blinks. "You," she breathes.

I say nothing, just stare blankly back at her, wondering what she's going to do next.

Narrowing her eyes, she demands, "Where the _hell_ have you been?"

"We've been over this," I say icily.

"Don't give me that bullshit." She brings me closer. I can smell the alcohol and God-knows-what-other stuff on her breath. "Answer me."

"I _told_ you," I say with exasperation, "with _Tio_ Oscar."

"What? _Again?_ With my good-for-nothing brother? You know Carlos and I need you here-,"

"To do what? Shoot up with you and clean up around his stupid friends passed out on the couch? I have a future, Mom, and Uncle Oscar is helping me get there. He's worth more than you'll ever be." That seems to stun her momentarily; her eyes glaze over again and she drops my arm. I snatch my duffel bag up from my bed and run out of the house.

...

Thanks for reading! Please review and look out for chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

Hey everyone =D Sorry again for the wait. I ran into moar writers' block -.- But then I went to my grandmas' house again and, again, my writers' block was lifted! I should go visit her every time I'm in a deep creative rut xD Anyway, enjoy!

...

As promised, I drove back to Uncle Oscars' and helped in the garage for the rest of the day… though I doubt I was really much of a help. The ride there was blurred with held-back tears. I was so spacey that the guys had to repeat instructions to me several times before I finally understood what they were asking. My uncle insisted I take an hour-long lunch break (during which I sat on the couch in his loft, staring into space and not touching anything food-related) and kept asking if I was okay. Finally, I snapped, "I'm fine, _Tio_; lay off!" He backed away and gave me a hurt look before turning around to talk to Rico. Guilt broke over me. It wasn't my uncles' fault that my mom cared more about her boyfriends and drugs than me.

I left the garage right after we closed, even though there was still work to do – I needed time to be by myself. I drove over to the beach and spent the evening sitting on the hood of my car. With my arms hugging my knees to my chest, I watched the night ocean and enjoyed the wind stirring my hair. I checked my phone at 10 o'clock and remembered I had a race that night. I ran to the 24-hour Walgreens to pick up more eye makeup remover, feminine products, and a dinner of Pepsi and trail mix – my stomach was rumbling by that point. My gas tank was nearly empty, so I made one last stop at the gas station before my race. I shoved the nozzle into the tank and leaned against my Cobalt, snacking and thinking.

I'd graduated from high school the summer before this one with big dreams of going to college and leaving my broken home behind me. I'd even snagged a scholarship to The Art Institute of California at San Diego. Not a full ride, but enough so I could help pay with my wages from 619 and it wouldn't break the bank. But a week after graduating, my mom had gone into our joint bank account (though most was mine – she can't keep a job to save her life) and nearly emptied it. I completely flipped out when I discovered she spent it on the Focus and, of course, drugs. When I confronted her about it, she claimed she needed a new car because Carlos was using the Honda so much. I called bullshit ("Neither of you have jobs, what the hell do you both need cars for?" I'd screamed) and it erupted into the biggest fight my mom and I have ever had.

Of course, there was a time when my mom and I got along. When we were still a family: my mom, my dad, and I. They were very loving, to me and to each other. I have precious memories of us together: at the beach, at the park, birthdays and Christmas mornings filled with love and laughter. It all came screeching to a halt when my dad died in a car accident. I was a freshman in high school. I remember being pulled out of my morning biology class and escorted down to the office. My mom, white-faced, told me the news in a tight-lipped, shaky whisper: he had been on his way to work and was blindsided by a drunk driver who didn't stop for the red light. We sped to the hospital and stayed in the waiting room for hours, not speaking. It was deep night before we heard anything. The surgeon delivered the news to us as gently as he could, I'm sure, but my mom fell to her knees and wailed while I blacked out and had to be taken to a hospital room of my own.

Our lives changed forever after that. While my pain subsided with time, Moms' seemed to grow. She went from moping around the house, staring vacantly into space for hours, to suddenly bringing home strange guys and then drugs. I was horrified: I'd never seen my mom drink more than two glasses of wine at one time before. All of a sudden she was turning to the thing that had killed my dad, her husband, for comfort. No matter what I said, no matter how hard I pleaded with her to stop, she always tried to assure me it was under control. Her grief and loneliness and consumed her soul, and now so were the drugs.

I started avoiding the house more, working longer at 619 after school and on the weekends. My whole motivation through high school was getting to college and out of the house for good to make something of myself. Somehow I must've thought it would make my mother snap out of this terrifying phase. She was actually sober on the day I graduated. She got as dressed up as I did, pulling an old but beautiful navy blue dress from the back of her closet.I saw her beaming at me from the bleachers as I received my diploma. I didn't even care that she had brought Carlos with her, that she was holding his hand as she waved at me. I naively thought it would be a new start for all of us. That idea was shattered the minute I came home and saw the Focus.

I lay low at Uncle Oscars' for a couple days, afraid of what would happen if I went home after such a huge fight. With a heavy heart, I had to drop out of school before it even started. Even with the scholarship, if I commuted to campus and worked every spare minute, tuition was still too much. That was the time Uncle Oscar really started pushing me to race. I was afraid to, fear still left over from my dads' accident. What if I got killed like him, or worse, what if I took away someone elses' dad? But little by little, I began to see the sense in the idea. Racing money, combined with my wages from 619, would definitely be enough to pay for school. If I was really good, no, the _best_, at racing, I could even pay my own way without a scholarship. After coming to that conclusion, I was practicing so much that Uncle Oscar could only get me out from behind the wheel long enough to work and sleep. Dedicating almost a whole year to practice, I didn't even start racing until a couple months ago. I wanted to be absolutely sure I could handle any situation behind the wheel, to be the most accident-free I could be. I've been shuttling between home, sleeping there only when Mom and Carlos aren't, and Uncle Oscars' ever since.

The gas cut off with a clunk, bringing me back down to Earth. I blinked and shook my head to clear the memories out. I needed to start focusing now. Tipping my head back, I poured the last handful of trail mix in my mouth, tossing the package into the garbage can. Back the nozzle went as I pounded the "Yes" button for a receipt. The paper made a ripping noise as I tore it out. I threw myself into the drivers' seat, slamming the door behind me, and buckled up as I turned the key. If I hurried, I could make it to the starting line with minutes to spare.

…

_Traffic in this city_, I cursed, gritting my teeth. This race winded through the busiest thoroughfares of San Diego. My arms ached from clenching the wheel so hard. I turned left, right, bobbing in and out of the lane, occasionally jumping the curb or toeing the yellow line. My eyes never left the pair of taillights in front of me. He was the only one standing between me and third place.

Suddenly the taillights are extinguished with a memory: _At the memorial for my dad, the church is beautifully lit by the stained-glass windows. It is a perversely sunny day. I sit in the front pew beside my mom. My hands are clenched on my thighs and my back straight as a rod; a sharp contrast to my mother, who is bent double with grief. Her hands are pressing a handkerchief to her face. The priests' voice and the amplified sniffles are only background noise to me. My eyes are glued to my fathers' face, willing his eyes to open, his finger to twitch, anything to prove he isn't really dead…_

_No!_ I shake my head quickly to rid myself of the painful image. In doing so, I jerk the wheel in the direction my head went. My car veers to the left, then the right, nearly colliding with a passing car before I correct myself. I bare my teeth at the alley I've just plunged down as a shortcut. _Focus!_

My brain has other ideas. _I see my mom standing in my doorway this morning. One minute she's looking at me like I'm the most precious thing in her life; the next, she's shaking me by the arm, demanding to know where I've been. She is broken, shattered beyond my – or maybe anyone elses' – repair._

As I think the word, the physical world responds with an actual shatter. Glass explodes around me as my airbag inflates. I am too surprised to cry out, and the airbag has pushed all the air out of my lungs anyway. My body has become limp and numb, and my fingers can no longer feel the steering wheel. Have they let go? I can't tell. My upper body sags into the airbag, the only thing keeping it propped up. Other racers zoom past me without thought or feeling; I am just another obstacle in the road.

When I can feel enough again to know that I'm shaking and gather enough of my wits to cut the engine, I look around and assess my situation. I've crashed into the building to my left, crushing in both my drivers' side doors. Those windows were taken out but my windshield is intact, though with a couple of cracks. The passenger side is completely untouched. _Good, I can get out on that side, _I think as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I start beating back the airbag and am surprised to see blood on it. I touch my face and red sticks to my fingers. My left shoulder is studded with blood-stained glass. I look away, queasy, wishing I hadn't taken my hoodie off before the race. I try not to think about it as I clamber over the gearshift. I grab my phone out of my purse, which was tossed onto the floor.

Fresh night air washes my face as I stumble out of my car. A magnetic force turns me around to stare at my car. My baby, my ticket to freedom, was broken just like my mother. _But I can fix this! _I try to scold myself. I'm not very convincing. I flip open my phone and go through my contacts with trembling fingers. I press the phone to my ear and hug myself. I pray Uncle Oscar will pick up as I rock back and forth.

...

Thanks for reading, reviews are greatly appreciated! Keep a lookout for the next chapter! =D


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everyone =) Sorry for the long wait. School and work have been killing me lately. I started this a while ago but finished it tonight... the coloring on one of my videos was being weird so I fixed it, and finished this while it was rendering. Anyway, enjoy!

...

"Sit," my uncle orders. I collapse into the chair he indicated. It was a metal folding chair next to the utility sink, hard and cold, but I could hardly feel it. No emotion pulses through me as I stare blankly at my uncle pushing my car into the garage by himself. The crushed side faces me, mirroring how I feel.

Thankfully, Uncle Oscar had picked up the phone when I called. His voice was stained with sleep at first, but he'd immediately awakened at the sound of my petrified voice. After worming my location out of me, he firmly told me to stay where I was; he'd be right there to get me. It probably wasn't long – though it felt like an age – before he arrived with his tow truck. We hooked my car up and drove back to the garage in silence.

Now, he approaches me and lifts my chin, inspecting the cuts on my face. He glances at my arm and winces. "Andrea, we should really get you to a hospital…"

"No!" I squeak, "No, _Tio_, please –,"

"Andrea, there's too much for me to do by myself. I need to take you to the emergency room." Uncle Oscar hardly ever gives me that stern look.

"It's too much money to go to the emergency room, _Tio_," my argument is futile, I know it.

"It doesn't matter! Andrea, you could get an infection!"

Even though I know he isn't yelling because he's angry, I still start to cry. The salt runs into a cut on my cheek and it starts to sting. I duck my head, pressing my fists to my eyes and halfway stifle a sob. I fucked up. I let my stupid emotions get in the way of my race. I did the one thing I spent a whole year practicing to prevent. Worst of all, I've put Uncle Oscar through all this trouble.

A hand, big and warm, rests on my right shoulder, the uninjured one. "'Drea, 'Drea. Come on, what's wrong? The first accident's always the worst, but -,"

"There was never _supposed_ to be an accident!" I say thickly.

"But no one was seriously hurt, _mi hijita_. You were lucky you hit the wall on the side like that. It could have been much worse. Come on, we'll take you to the hospital, and then fix up your car good as new. You'll get back on your feet, just like you always do." His hand made long, comforting strokes up and down my back.

Though his words were meant to soothe, they only make me feel worse. I felt like I was taking advantage of _Tio_ Oscar. First he gives me a job when no one else would, then I practically move into his place, and now this. I shouldn't have called him. I should have just let him sleep. He was better off without me and all my baggage, truly. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ I chant in my head as I start to rock back and forth.

I hadn't realized I'd been saying it out loud until my uncle asks, "Sorry for what, _mi hijita_?"

"Everything, _Tio_," I sob, my knuckles still digging futilely into my eyes, "For sleeping on your couch more than in my own bed. For waking you up in the middle of the night. I butt into your life, taking up space where I'm not wanted and fuck everything up. I'm so sorry."

Hands bigger and warmer than mine close around my wrists and pry my hands away from my face. I look up and finally meet my uncles' eyes. He's kneeling in front of the chair so we look at each other straight on. I want to hide again from his hard expression, but his hold on me prevents it.

"You listen to me." My uncle says firmly. "I don't care where you sleep as long as you're safe. I'd drive anywhere, at anytime, to come and get you. You're like a daughter to me, Andrea. Wherever I have a place, you are always wanted. Do you understand?"

I nod, my throat choked up from the depth of Uncle Oscars' emotion. I'm ashamed I didn't realize how much he cared for me… it was like having a dad again. I fall into his embrace and soak the shoulder of his tank top with tears.

"Come on," my uncle gently says after I've quieted some. "The emergency room has a place for you now."

"I'll pay you back every dime, _Tio_," I swear as he helps me up from the chair, "For everything. My car, the hospital bill -

"There's no need, 'Drea," he cuts me off, his arm steadying me around my waist, as we make our way back to the truck, "We're _familia_."

...

D'aww. Review, pretty please, and be on the lookout for the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Hey everyone =) Sorry again for the long wait. Stupid school/work cycle x( But I know you don't want to listen to me complain, so on with the chapter =)

...

Chapter 6

The sun had scooted halfway across the living room by the time I wake up. I blink and push myself up to a sitting position, mindful of my bandaged left arm. The clock on the DVD player faintly glows 1:16. _Damn._ It wasn't very surprising, considering Uncle Oscar and I had gotten back from the hospital at 3:30 this morning. Still, I'm not one to sleep very late.

Absently scratching at the bandage, I make my way to the kitchen to make some lunch. My scavenging finds some lunchmeat in the fridge and fresh tomatoes on the counter. I decide to make some paninis and dig out the frying pan. Uncle Oscar walks in as I am deftly slicing a tomato.

"Let me do that, 'Drea." He takes the knife from me. "Don't overwork your arm." He chastises.

"Making lunch is hardly work, _Tio_," I scoff. "Though for you it might be." I smirk at the awkward way he handles the knife. He responds by playfully pretending to carve my face with it, making us both laugh. I make myself useful by assembling the sandwiches: bread, cheese, chicken, tomato, cheese, bread. I drop a chunk of butter in the pan, following with the bread when the butter melts. Soon the kitchen fills with the aroma of toasting bread and melting cheese. Within minutes, Uncle Oscar and I sit down to eat.

"I don't want you working today," he says between bites, "You shouldn't push it."

"But _Tio_," I start protesting.

"No buts. Besides, I have something to tell you… you'll need some time to think about it." I cock my head inquiringly at him, and he continues, "There's gonna be a big tournament in Atlanta in a couple of weeks. People from all over the States are gonna be competing. I think you should go."

I stare at him. "_Tio_, I can't be possibly good enough yet –,"

"I wouldn't be telling you if I didn't think you were."

"But the accident last night! What if it happens again? And I don't know anyone in Atlanta! And what about you? What about the shop? What if -,"

"Slow down, 'Drea," my uncle implores, laughing, "One question at a time, _por favor_, _mi hijita_. I got a buddy down there, name's Apone. He owns a shop called Apone Team Racing. He's the best mechanic down there, no mistake. He'll take care of you."

"But who'll take care of _you_, _Tio_?" I demand.

"I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." Uncle Oscar smiles a little sadly at me.

Snorting, I say, "Sure. Coming from the guy who still can't wash his own dishes."

"That's my girl," my uncle guffaws.

…

For the second time in two days (_A record!_ I joke to myself), I walk inside my mothers' house, my duffel back slung over my good shoulder. Mom and Carlos are both out for once. Good, I've been meaning to do some laundry. I head down to the basement to get started. A few peaceful hours pass while I immerse myself in the chore. It's nice to have some quiet time. My mind has a chance to turn off for a while. My random thoughts and memories chase each other lazily, not really going anywhere.

After I finish, I walk up to the kitchen with my arms full of folded clothes. I place them inside my bag and listen to the silence. Poking my head out the garage door reveals an empty space. My mother and her boyfriend still aren't home yet, even though it's close to dinner time. Speaking of, I poke my head in the refrigerator to see if she has anything worth eating. Nothing. I sigh at the same time my stomach rumbles. _Guess I'll pick up Mickey Ds' on the way back to the garage_, I decide.

I suddenly remember that I have a hamper full of dirty clothes in my room. I slap my own forehead and climb the stairs, resigned to more work. I step onto the landing and know immediately something is wrong. My bedroom door is slightly ajar. I push it open and gasp. Everything is ruined. My hamper is overturned, dirty clothes strewn in a pile right in front of the door. I step over them, my mouth hanging open. The sheets have been ripped off my bed, my office chair lies on its' side on top of some of my books. Someone had clearly been looking for something. Slowly, dreadfully, I turn to my right. The stuffed animals in the corner are also scattered. Even my dresser is in ruins, all the drawers opened, as well as my jewelry box –

My jewelry box! I dash over to it and yank the secret compartment open. My racing money, all of it, is gone. I sink to my knees in disbelief, staring at it like the force of my gaze could recover the money. I close my eyes against the tears that surge to my eyes. I hadn't closed my room properly yesterday because of my mom. She might have been lucid when she came in, might have seen where I hid the key. She'd still been in the room when I left. Though she's high all the time now, she's still got the sneaky mom skills. Somehow she'd always known if I'd stayed out after curfew. I want to both laugh and cry at that memory. She could have figured this out.

A heavy footfall makes me look up. My mom is standing once again in my doorway, in the same clothes as yesterday. She sways as she looks down at me and has the impertinence to giggle.

"Andrea." She chuckles, "Why are you on the floor?" She smiles glassily at me.

I'm shaking as I stand. "Mom, where is my money?" I ask in an equally quivery voice.

"Money?" She cocks her head at me, still with that stupid grin on her face.

"My money, Mom." I hold up the box, not sure if I'm going to throw it at her head or not, "The money that was in this box. There was a lot of money in here. Important money. Did you take it out of my jewelry box?"

"Oh," she giggles again, "There was a key to that."

My mouth goes dry. "Mom," it's a real struggle to stay calm, now, "where is my money? Where is the money that was in my jewelry box?"

"Carlos has it," Mom sing-songed, "He said he was going to make it grow." She laughs again, insanely. "I told him he was crazy! Money doesn't grow on trees!" She collapses into cackles, holding her sides like it's the best joke she's ever heard.

The red of a stoplight falls across my vision as my throat closes. I'm never getting that money back. Carlos has a tendency to gamble, badly and often. They had taken my earnings and used it for drugs and poker games. The money I was going to use for college. I hadn't opened my own bank account because they would have sent the statements here, to my mothers' house, where she could have seen the information and done exactly what she'd done after graduation. But this is so much worse. The money I'd earned from racing was just as much as what she'd stolen from my account, and more.

"Hey, Andrea," my mom interrupts my thoughts, "You need to clean your room." She starts laughing again.

"Clean it yourself." My voice is just a whisper, but intense enough to make her stop and look at me. My murderous gaze doesn't even faze her.

"I'm your mother!" She chirps, "You need to listen to me!"

"No. You listen. The money that was in my box," I hold it up, "was my future. I needed it to go to college. Do you hear me?" My voice was rising, but I didn't care, "College! So I could get out of this house and do something with my life! But now that you and your fuck-up boyfriend stole it so you could get high and gamble? I can't even believe you're my mother right now! If Dad were alive -,"

"Don't talk to me about your daddy," my mother's eyes suddenly well up with tears.

"I will if that's the only way to get through to you!" I bellow. I wanted her to cry, wanted her to snap out of this drug-induced fog and see the enormity of what she had done.

"You need to shut up right now," she snarls. Suddenly she lunges at me, but I dodge her easily, only just stopping myself from burying the box in her skull. I step backwards towards my bed as she falls heavily. There she stays, breathing thickly face down into my carpet. I can't tell if she's passed out or not, and I don't bother to check. I drop the box next to her and walk out of my room.

...

Next chapter will be shorter so it may be up faster. I can never tell xD Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated, and look out for the next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys =) So sorry for the long wait D= I had midterms this week but now I'm on spring break! W00! *dances* Now I'll have time to do stuff. Enjoy!

...

Back in Uncle Oscars' loft, I pace with closed fists. Back and forth in front of the TV, from the window to the end of the couch. The violent anger still rips through me, almost overwhelming my incredulity and despair. I keep going back to the moment my mother fell, the instant where I almost crushed her skull in with the drawer. I revel in the fact that I could have done it, and hate the fact that I would ever think of doing that, disgusted that I didn't.

_I can't stay, I can't stay,_ I keep thinking. I couldn't do this anymore. Mother and daughter no longer recognized each other through the veil of drugs and grief. It was transparent like lace yet hard and unyielding like concrete. It couldn't even be lifted up for a peek, let alone torn down. _She's too deep inside herself to remember me,_ I think bitterly. _She probably wouldn't even notice if I left for good._

The door opens suddenly, making me jump. My uncle and I look at each other at the same time. His eyes, full of light and laughter, widen with concern when they see my face. Despite everything, I feel a rush of love for him that nearly makes me weep. _I can't stay,_ I repeat, _but I can't leave, either._

"Andrea, what's wrong?" He hurries over to me and claps his large hands on my shoulders. "What happened, _mi hijita_?"

"My mother happened," I spit bitterly, and burst into tears.

Uncle Oscar pushes me down onto the couch. We sit with his arms around me for a long time as I cry. When I finish, I tell him everything that's happened since yesterday: the visit to my house, how my mother saw me put my key back, the memories that caused my accident, and the encounter with Mom just now. Uncle Oscar listens carefully, still holding me, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

"The worst part was when she fell, _Tio_," I say, wiping my eyes with my palm, "I had the drawer in my hand, I wanted to hit her with it and make her pay for what she did. I was just so angry. But I stopped myself and now I hate myself for it. I'm glad I didn't, but I hate myself, too." Tears of self-pity fill my eyes again and I have to push them back with a will of iron.

"Andrea," he lets go of me to take my hands in his, "You've been through so much in the past couple of years. In spite of everything, you worked for that money. I'm proud of you for that, _mi hijita_. You know you should've put it in the bank; you could have sent the statements here." I blink at him; I hadn't even thought of that. I open my mouth to say something, but he continues, "Before you tell me I should have told you this sooner, just know that I would've if I'd known what was going on. _Ai, chica,_ but that's not the point, saying what should have been done. Andrea, I know how much you hate your mom right now, but you stopped yourself from hurting her. You still love her, even though you feel like you can never do so again."

I ponder my uncles' words for a moment. I know he's right, though I doubt I can really appreciate it until I cool off. "I'm so sick of this, _Tio_," I sigh. "I just want to get out of here."

"Good thing I told you about that tournament in Atlanta, eh?" He grins at me.

"I can't go!" I protest and pull out of his grip.

"Why not? It's a good opportunity for you!"

"I know, _Tio_, but I told you: I'm not good enough yet. And now I don't have any money to get there."

"It's not for a couple of weeks. You can race around here until you get enough money… and work in the garage, of course."

"But I can't leave you, _Tio_," I blurt out desperately, "I love you."

To my surprise, his eyes are bright with tears. "I love you too, _mi hijita_. I don't know what I'd do without you some days. But I still think you should go. You're growing up, _chica_," here, he brushes my cheek with the back of his hand, "and I'm so glad to have been a part of that. But you need to start living your own life, Andrea. Don't feel like you have to stay here because of me. If you really want to go, then go. It's okay."

An unexplained relief washes through me. I lean into my uncles' embrace again. Having Uncle Oscar all these years was like having a dad again. His go-ahead means more to me than I could ever say. I hug him tightly, passing my gratitude to him without speaking.

...

This story is going to be put on hiatus for a little while. You know that planned KH prom crack on my page? I actually want to finish that before my high school friends go to prom. I've got a couple of chapters written, but I'm not sure on the title yet. Since that story has a deadline, this one is being put on the back burner for now. I'm so sorry guys ;-; But hey, it's crack! Everyone loves a good crack story! xD lol. Thank you once again for your patience. Reviews are appreciated, and look out for the next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

Hey guys! I'm on summer vacation and this story is officially off hiatus =3 I'm sorry I never uploaded the prom crack story, but I just have no inspiration for it. I'm deeply sorry to everyone who was looking forward to it. Anyway, enjoy!

...

"Turn right," my GPS instructs me. I obey groggily. I've arrived in Atlanta, but all I can think about is getting out of my car and having a proper nights' sleep. The trip took me three days, driving through desert and river valley by day and sleeping in motels by night. Though it definitely beats sleeping in my car, I still didn't get much sleep. I don't sleep well in unfamiliar places, even if I'm in a bed. Go figure, I can sleep on my uncles' lumpy futon but not in a soft motel bed. I allow myself a sleepy chuckle and remind myself to clean out all the coffee cups littering my car.

The last two weeks have been very busy. Almost every day, I'd worked in _Tios'_ garage; every night, I'd raced. Because my car needed to be fixed up after my accident, Uncle Oscar let me borrow his Camaro, with promises of broken limbs if I crashed it. Muscle cars aren't my specialty, but I can still drive pretty well in one. From all the races I won, my money was nearly replenished – with not even a nick in the paint to show for it. At _Tio_ Oscar's insistence, I'd opened my own bank account and put his address down as mine. I felt a lot safer knowing I wouldn't have to keep hiding my money anymore – and that I wouldn't have to keep going to my mothers' house. That's okay with me, though; it'll be a long time before I'll be able to forgive her.

"You have arrived," my GPS chirps. I blink and pull into a garage, blearily taking in my surroundings as I step out of the car. Though I stand on the other side of the country, the noise of manly chatter and machinery and the scent of oil make me feel at home. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, enjoying the familiarity.

When I open my eyes, I see an African American man looking at me from under the car he has jacked up. As I squint, trying to make out his features, he excuses himself from his coworker and makes his way over to me. As the shadow of the car falls away, my breath catches in my throat. He is devastatingly good-looking. He's wearing an orange jump-suit, but the pants part only. The sleeves are tied around his hips. His torso is instead covered by a white tank top, exposing muscled shoulders and arms the color of creamed coffee. There's a sparkle in his eyes, a wry smile on his thick lips, like he knows something I don't. Shivers of premonition shoot up and down my spine; somehow I know something will change.

He stops, Timberland boots nearly toe-to-toe with my Nikes, still wearing that crooked smile. He leans down to my right ear, asking, "Now, what's a pretty little lady like you doing in a place like this?"

His warm breath on my neck does nothing to help the tremors still running the length of my back, and now to top it all off I've got goosebumps. Great. I turn my head to his ear, trying to keep my voice steady as I reply, "I'm looking for Apone."

He straightens, that smile brightening. He says something, and the noise in the garage swallows the words up, but I know enough lip-reading to understand that he said, "You've met him."

…

"Here we are," Apone says, grinning down at me from my open window. I cut the engine, avoiding his eyes for a little while longer. I'm humiliated by the state of my car; I haven't cleaned it of the coffee cups or fast-food wrappers. I look up at him, smile tentatively back, and turn away from him to look at our destination. "Here" happens to be a small house not far from the garage. It's actually Apones' place. When _Tio_ Oscar said Apone would "take care" of me, I didn't think it would mean staying with him. But he'd offered after _Tio_ emailed him about me coming down for the tournament. Even though _Tio_ told me about it right after the Mom incident, when it was financially appealing, I was reluctant. It was only after _Tio_ assured me that we'd be sleeping in separate rooms and that Apone wouldn't try anything for fear of his balls being chainsawed off, did I agree.

"Come on, 'Drea, let's get you settled in," Apone says, already halfway around my car. I pop the trunk and exit my car. I hadn't told him my nickname yet; hearing him call me that gives me a little thrill. I'd already had to correct him on the pronunciation of my name…

"_So, you're Andrea? Oscars' niece?" We'd stepped outside because of the noise in the garage. Though Apone looked at me with an open expression, I scowled. He'd pronounced my name like "An-dree-a," which is one of my pet peeves, though I know it can't be helped._

"_An-dray-a," I corrected him._

"_My bad, my bad," he grins, holding his arms up in a gesture of surrender, "Well then, Andrea," this time, he gets it right, "Welcome to Atlanta. You're here for the tournament, right?" I nod, but before I can say anything, he says, "You're in no condition to race now, though… you look like you're about to nod off any second! How 'bout we go to my place so you can rest?"_

_I smile, "That'd be great." He took a set of car keys out of his pocket and gestured for me to follow..._

Though I only have two bags, Apone insists on carrying both of them inside. I close my trunk and follow him up the front step and through his door. The narrow hallway leads to the kitchen, with the coat closet on the left. Immediately to our right is the living room. I almost laugh at its' resemblance to my uncles' place: somewhat beaten couch, cluttered coffee table, big TV complete with cable box, DVD player, and a Playstation.

We go through the kitchen to a small flight of stairs. We climb up and go into the first door on the right. Obviously this is the guest room, for Apone lays my bags down on the bed. It's plain, white walls with a maroon comforter covering the twin-sized bed. A desk is against the wall next to the door, and to the left, facing the bed, is the closet.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you," I say, because I can't think of anything else to say at the moment.

My host looks up at me and smiles kindly, "It's no problem, Andrea. Your bathroom is right across the hall. Make yourself at home while I make us some dinner." He leaves, closing the door behind him.

I sit down on the bed and stare at the desk, feeling a little homesick. I think I should take my laptop out and shoot my uncle an email letting him know I've arrived in one piece. But that's the last thought I have before blackness covers my eyes. Despite the fact that I've never been here before, I feel strangely at home, and I curl up on top of the comforter and sleep as well as I would on my uncles' futon.

...

=3 I wrote this chapter this morning when the stupid birds woke me up and I couldn't fall back asleep DX Well, I guess it was a good thing if it got me to write XD Reviews are greatly appreciated, and look out for the next chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Hey guys! Sorry for the delay. I haven't been very productive lately... been playing a lot of SoulCalibur, actually XD Here ya go!

...

After a few days, Atlanta became as familiar to me as San Diego. Apone let me work in his garage during the day, and the guys there accepted me as one of their own. Soon we all were heckling each other in exactly the same affable way the guys in my uncles' garage did. Some nights I went out racing as practice for the tournament, some nights I simply stayed in with Apone, developing a fast friendship. We'd take turns making dinner for each other: he would make me fried chicken and I'd make fajitas for him. The first chip he had of my salsa, he choked and chugged about three glasses of water. I just about cried with laughter as he swore I'd burned a hole through his tongue.

After dinner, we'd play some video games or take walks. He'd taken to calling me "Dirt"; when I asked why, he shrugged and just said it was because I played dirty at his video games. I playfully shoved a throw pillow in his face and laughed as he chucked it back. Other than that, he was always respectful and polite in a way guys in San Diego never are. Southern charm, I supposed, but that didn't stop me from blushing every time he held open a door for me.

The morning of my third day in Atlanta, I wake up with an odd knot in my stomach. I lay in bed for a minute, trying to puzzle it out. After a moment, I realize it's because the tournament is tonight. The knot tightens unpleasantly. I scold myself for worrying, but it doesn't make me feel better. I get up and dress in my second favorite tank top (gray with a butterfly stamp), my lavender zip-up hoodie, and skinny jeans. Summers in Atlanta are the same at home – hot and humid – so I knew I'd be dying in the garage that didn't have air conditioning, but for some reason I feel strangely cold.

I make my way downstairs to find Apone frying bacon. He hears me and turns to me, saying brightly, "Good mornin', Dirt! I'm making a special breakfast for your big day."

I manage to smile back. "Thanks Apone, but I'm not hungry." Like I could fit anything else in my stomach around this huge knot.

"Not nervous, are ya, Dirt?"

"No," I snap a little too quickly.

He grins. "No sweat, Andrea. You'll smoke 'em all for sure. C'mon, you'll feel better if you eat something." He ushers me to the table and I sit down. For some reason, hearing him say my real name makes me feel calm enough to eat a couple slices of bacon and some scrambled eggs. Apone seems satisfied even with the small amount I've eaten, and after we clean up, we head to the garage for work.

…

Dusk has fallen, but my anxiety has risen. I fidget as Apone drives us home from the garage. I've never been this worked up over a race before. I feel like everything hangs on this tournament and I can't help feeling like I'll end up disappointing everyone somehow.

"So what'cha want for dinner tonight?" I hear Apone asking as we head in the house.

I shrug; food is the last thing on my mind. He smiles at me and says something about a frozen pizza before disappearing into the kitchen. I make my way into the living room and sit down on the edge of the couch, staring at the blank T.V. My chest feels tight with all the tension inside me; it holds me up as rigidly as a straightjacket.

All of a sudden the T.V. turns on and I blink. A weight sinks the cushion beside me. I turn and see Apone smiling at me in a sympathetic way. He inclines his head in a "come here" sort of way, at the same time wrapping his right arm around my shoulders. I fold into him, bringing my feet up on the couch in a cheerleader sit and resting my head on his shoulder. We spend the time in companionable silence, and when we get up to take the pizza out of the oven, Apone gestures for me to stay. He comes back with two plates laden with pizza, which he eats with relish but I just pick at.

"You better get ready, Dirt," he says as he gathers up our plates. The panic, which had ebbed somewhat while we were eating, returns in full force. Apone notices the look on my face and smiles a little, "You'll be _fine_. I'll be right there rootin' for ya."

For some reason that comforts me a little. I nod, unable to smile back, and head up the stairs to brush my teeth.

…

I know it's short, I'm sorry; I was going to write the tournament in this chapter but I ran out of inspiration. Plus I'm kind of a sadistic little beyotch who likes keeping you guys hanging XD *shot* Reviews are much appreciated! Keep a lookout for the next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

No excuses for me! Free shots -stands and lets big heavy objects be thrown at her- Let this chapter entertain you while I tend to my broken limbs =D

...

My Cobalt rolls up to the park where the first race of the tournament is being held. I gulp nervously as onlookers gape and point at me, the newcomer. I park at the starting line and get out, repressing the urge to put my hood up; while it would definitely make me feel safer, others will see it as a sign of weakness. A large man in what can only be described as a pimp coat walks up to me.

"You here to race?" He asks me, squinting at me from behind his purple tinted sunglasses.

Obviously. "Yes."

He holds out a pudgy, ring-encrusted hand. "The fee, and your name."

"Andrea," I reply, reaching in my hoodie pocket and counting out $100. This exchange is seen as a contract: now that I've paid, I'm in the tournament and can't back out; plus it goes toward the winnings so the hosts don't have to pay so much. He counts it again, and apparently satisfied, pockets it and turns away. "Good luck," he throws carelessly over his shoulder. I know he couldn't care less if I won, so I remember Apones' good luck kiss on my cheek and feel bolstered.

I slide back in my car, grateful to be out of the noise of the crowd. Breathing slowly and deeply, I buckle back up. It seems all the contestants have arrived, because our audience cheers louder than ever, and it soon becomes apparent why. The race starter – an African American girl about my age wearing a bikini top and the shortest shorts imaginable – slowly saunters down the line of cars, ignoring the catcalls, and stops in the middle. The snarls of revving engines nearly drown out the cheering crowd. Gradually, the race starter raises her arms. The air around me feels like it's about to snap with noise and tension. My knuckles turn white around the steering wheel and handbrake.

She throws her arms down.

My foot slams the gas just as I release the brake, and I'm flung backwards by accelerations' force. My worry, my fear, all of it has been left at the starting line. If I think about it now, I'm dead, so I let instinct take over.

I weave my way up to second place and tail the white Lexus in first. We dart in and out between trees and playground equipment, plunging through an alley to take us around some side streets before we circle back to the finish line. We lay it on each other on this straightaway. I creep up as the Lexus driver fights to keep their lead. Inch by inch I close in on them. With a final burst of speed, I break away and streak across the finish line.

As the spectators swarm around my car, I smile. This tournament is won based on a simple points system. Since I placed first, I've earned seven points. Those who've finished after me will earn a descending number of points, with last place – eighth in this case - getting no points at all. At the end of the tournament, the one with the most points wins. _One race down, two to go,_ I think to myself.

The man in the pimp coat waves the contestants onwards. We drive to a deserted intersection about a block away from the park. We line up – four cars in front, four behind – and wait again for the race starter. She slams her arms down at the same moment the stoplight turns green.

This track takes us around downtown Atlanta. We weave in and out of traffic, braiding waves of bright light and paint as we go that fade behind us as soon as we're out of sight. Occasionally one of us jumps the curb, sending terrified pedestrians fleeing. Again, the white Lexus and I are in the lead, neither one of us willing to give.

As we near the ramp that serves as the finish line, the white car jumps forward. All I saw was a glimpse of the flames spitting out of the tailpipes before it crosses the line. The crowd is cheering for the Lexus as I cross the finish line seconds behind him. The driver – I can see now it's a guy – gets out of his car to allow his friends to high-five him and thump him on the back. _It's like he won the tournament_, I think, half incredulous and half amused. Arrogance has been many a racers' downfall.

A tap on my window makes me jump. It's only Apone, so I roll it down. He leans down to talk, one hand on the hood of my car, the other holding the door.

"You're doin' great so far, Dirt. You and Reggie are tied now," he says, jerking a thumb toward the white Lexus driver.

"Thanks, but I can do that math," I smile.

"Never said you couldn't, Dirt," Apone says brightly, "I just wanted to say that I worked on his car so I know he's only got one can of nitrous left."

"He's only got two cans in there?" I stare over at the luxury vehicle. "But he's driving a _Lexus_! He can afford more, can't he?"

"S'not a question of what the man can and can't afford, darlin'. It's a mental thing he's got. He thinks he's so great, he don't need 'em."

Apone hasn't even finished talking yet and I'm grinning. As I said, we racers need to keep our swag in check. Otherwise we'll exploit it like we would fear: mercilessly – just as I'm about to do.

…

The noise of the crowd is louder than ever now that the last race is about to start. We drivers respond with the snarls of our revving engines. I sneak a glance over at Reggie in the white Lexus. He's got his seat leaned back and he isn't holding the steering wheel as tightly as he should, but he's smiling confidently all the same. I look back at the race starter with a small smile of my own. It doesn't take much to break these big boys.

For the final time, the race starter drops her arms.

My Cobalt surges forward with the rest of the pack. Down the ramp and onto the expressway we fly. Reggie and I resume our earlier positions in the lead. Traffic is heavy, but that doesn't slow us down. We dart in and out of the four lanes, occasionally crossing paths and getting a small lead, only for the other to snatch it back. I have a slight advantage here: my Cobalt is lighter than his Lexus, and can flit between the traffic easier. Reggie seems to have the hang of the Lexus' weight, however, and I grudgingly admit he's doing well.

After we emerge from a particularly heavy portion of traffic, there's a fairly deserted stretch of highway in front of us. A passing white blur tells me that Reggie used his last can of nitrous. I smirk. _He thinks he can keep ahead of me for the rest of the race?_ I wait another split second, then hit my own nitrous button. My little Cobalt charges forward. The flames from Reggies' tailpipes sputter and go out as I pass. I round a bend in the road and the exit ramp that serves as the finish line nears. _I'm going to win_, I think, elation rising in me.

A sudden bright light in my rearview mirror nearly blinds me. I squint into my side mirror and gasp. Coming up behind me at the speed of light is Reggie in the white Lexus. _How did he -?_, then I gasp as he flies by. Orange flames are once again spewing from his tailpipes. He had another can of nitrous! But Apone said – _Nevermind what Apone said! _I shriek at myself and pound my nitrous button.

My Cobalt jumps forward, but Reggie is still ahead, carried on by the momentum of his heavier car. I hold the gas pedal down so hard my foot hurts. "Faster, baby, come on," I mutter desperately. My faithful car responds, closing in on the Lexus. The fire in his tailpipes goes out as my front bumper is level with his back tires. My nitrous runs out in the next second, as our bodies are even. I bare my teeth at the ramp ahead, _I will not lose!_ I press the gas pedal into the floor as we dash up the ramp and hit the line together.

The spectators go wild as we skid to a stop. The riotous excitement in the air is virtually nonexistent to me as I clamber out of my car. I was petrified I had lost, but who could call it? The finish was too close. Dread coats my stomach, heavy like lead.

Apone rushes over to me, "Damn, that was close!" He gets a look at my expression and laughs, "Relax, Dirt. Someone thought to bring a fancy high-speed camera for this finish so they're lookin' at it now. We'll know soon enough." He takes my hand and squeezes it comfortingly as the rest of the racers finish around us.

The noise dies down a little as we wait for the posting. It took what felt like a ridiculous amount of time, but I supposed they were adding up everyone else's score too. It's only after a few minutes that the pimp-coat guy jumps on top of his car, a 1970's Impala. The crowd starts cheering again, but he holds up his hands for quiet, rings sparkling in the streetlamps and headlights. He pulls a piece of paper out of his fur-lined pocket and starts reading the postings, backwards from eighth place. I start fidgeting, but Apone squeezes my hand again and I stop with some difficulty.

"And now, in the closest finish this tournament has ever seen," here, I take a deep breath, "I'm pleased to announce that the winner of $5000 is –," Pimp-Coat Man pauses for effect, looking dramatically around the audience. Everyone waits with bated breath. The suspenseful silence stretches nearly to breaking point before he shouts:

"Andrea!"

"Ya did it, Dirt!" Apone shouts in my ear as the crowd starts cheering again. I feel dazed and faint with victory and disbelief. He has to push me towards Pimp-Coat's car. I walk there on rubbery legs, embarrassed at the way the people part as I go by. Unfortunately, I have to walk past Reggie and his crew. They boo and hiss as I pass, but I really could care less. I keep my chin high and don't give them a second thought.

When I stop in front of the Impala, Pimp-Coat leans down and hands me the money with a smile on his face. Huh. Maybe he really had wanted me to win. I manage to smile back in thanks and turn back to my car. Apone is there, the happiness at my win lighting up his face. I grin back at him as I near. He pulls me into a bear hug, then we get in my car and head back to his place to celebrate.

...

=D I'm actually still in the process of figuring out what's going to happen next. I mean, I have a general idea but specific chapters I'm still working on. I'm back in school so inspiration should be spiking anyway. Keep a lookout! Thanks for reading/sticking with me. Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	11. Chapter 11

Free shots again *stands* XD Enjoy.

...

If anything is comparable to living like a god, it would be living in the aftermath of winning a big tournament. The morning after the race, Apone and I walked into the shop to be greeted with a round of cheering and applause. The guys gathered around me, clapping me on the back, and presented me with a big sheet cake. A frosting version of my Cobalt sped along under the words, "Congratulations, Andrea!" written in yellow script. I was embarrassed about their generosity, but delighted too, and we all devoured it at lunchtime.

Of course, it has some drawbacks. Reggie had the balls to show up at the garage that afternoon, with a couple of his cronies. Apone made me stay in the back office while he talked to them. I anxiously watched from the window looking into the shop. Apone's back was to me, and Reggie's face in shadow because of the bright sun streaming into the garage behind him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Reggie was obviously pissed from the wild way he gestured. Apone held his hand up, trying to calm him down. Reggie shook his head, apparently disgusted, and gestured to his crew. They left, and I sighed with relief.

"Sorry, Dirt," Apone said, entering the office, "Reggie has some anger issues. Sore loser, too, 'case ya couldn't tell. He would've totally lost it if he'd seen ya. Tell ya what. I'll take you out to dinner tonight. Somewhere special to celebrate your big win." I start to protest, but he lays a finger on my lips, silencing me. "You deserve it," he smiles. I smile back, and my skin tingles when he removes his finger to go back to work.

He's halfway out the door when I realize something. "But I don't have anything to wear!" I blurt out. He stops in the doorway. He turns around and grasps the doorframe with his right hand, leaning his upper body towards me. The amusement in his gaze makes my blush flare up again. I swear it had just faded away from that morning.

"Well then, I suggest you take the rest of the day off and go fix that." His expression fades into something inscrutable and intense. He leaves the room but leaves behind the shivers running through my body.

…

I walk into the mall and am hit with a blast of air-conditioning. It's a relief after the sweaty noise of the garage. I bask in the coolness as I walk, browsing the stores. Eventually I come upon a Forever 21 and I head inside. I decline the associate's help and wander towards the back of the store, where I see some dresses. I flip through the racks, humming along with the song on the speakers. I find a leopard-print number and grin, remembering a time when _Tío_ Oscar threatened to lock me in his apartment until I'm 30 if he ever caught me wearing something like this. I put it back and continue searching, not because I don't like it but because it truthfully isn't my thing.

After a few minutes, I find something much more me. It's a one-shoulder dress, with asymmetrical red and black triangles slashing across each other. It takes another moment of searching to find a small before I head back to the dressing room. With my back to the mirror, I shuck off my tank top and jeans and pull the dress on over my head. I take a breath as I zip up the side, then turn around. What I see steals the breath I just took. It conforms to my body – truth be told, it feels like it was made for me - without being uncomfortable. The block of black at the waist accentuates my waist perfectly, and makes the red at my chest and hips all the more striking. It's bold and unique – kind of like me, I'd like to think. I smile and twist, looking at my back, even though I've already decided it's what I'm buying.

I'm halfway to the registers when the cynical part of me asks if I'm wearing my Nikes with this. Chuckling, I turn back around and make my way to the shoe section. There, I find a pair of black wedges. Tiny straps criss-cross from the toe to the buckle around my heel. I also pick up a hoop earring set, because I figure the plain black pair would match without taking away from the dress. Plus the whole set is a better deal than the one pair I was looking at for the same price. Ten minutes later, I'm walking out of the store, happily swinging the bag. Forever 21 is my one-stop shop for an outfit, and without breaking the bank, either! For all the masculine habits my street racing brings, underneath I am still very much a glamour girl.

My pocket vibrates suddenly as the mall doors slide open to the sultry Atlanta heat, making me jump. I pull out my phone and frown at it. I don't recognize the number. _Probably just a spam call._ I shrug and shove it back into my pocket and continue on to my car. It's about three o'clock now, and Apone had texted me while I was at the register, telling me reservations were made for six. Plans for showering and straightening my hair crowd the weird call from my mind.

…

I'm standing in my towel, hair dried and straightened, toe- and fingernails bright with red polish, and makeup mostly done when Apone returns from work. We yell hello to each other through my closed bathroom door as he rushes past to his own room to quickly shower and change. I lean into the counter over the sink as if striving to become one with the mirror. My eyelids are dark and smoky, brown irises framed with black eyeliner and mascara, but I need one more thing to make my look perfect. Carefully, I apply the red lip gloss I save for special occasions. It's lucky I thought to bring my makeup bag. _Or maybe not luck,_ I think, remembering that flash of intuition when I first laid eyes on Apone. A shiver of anticipation shoots up my spine. I feel like I did before the tournament: like something unnamed and important hangs on tonight. But not a dread at all, thankfully. It's an optimism, and as I zip up the dress, the sound the zipper makes feels like a confirmation.

I'm standing in the kitchen, smirking at the irony of me waiting for Apone, when I hear his footsteps on the stairs. I turn, about to make a sarcastic remark, but the words get caught in my throat. He's wearing a red dress shirt, the first couple buttons undone. The front of the shirt is tucked into a pair of black slacks. He's stopped on the bottom stair: hand clenching the banister, foot poised mid-step. I notice he's wearing black dress shoes. _I've never seen him look so handsome_, I think, and a heat creeps up my body. His astonished expression tells me he's thinking the same thing. We stand there for a moment, staring at each other. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it.

"Look," I croak when the tension between us reaches a breaking point, "We match." I attempt to smile, but my face won't work right, and instead a strand of hair just falls across my right eye.

To my relief, he laughs, if a bit nervously. He descends the bottom stair and steps towards me. Reaching out, he tucks the lock of hair back behind my ear. His fingers brush my forehead, linger behind my ear, bump the earring against my neck. I shiver.

"You look gorgeous, Andrea." His serious tone makes me blush again – how many times is that today? – and fishes his keys out of his pocket. "Let's go," he says, smiling. I follow him out the front door and slide into his car. As he closes the door behind me and walks around the car to get in the drivers' seat, my phone buzzes in my lap. I turn it over and look at the number. It's the same one that called when I was coming out of the mall.

"Ya gonna answer that?" Apone asks, opening his door.

"No, it's a weird number." I hit the ignore button and buckle up as Apone starts the car.

The evening went beautifully after that. Apone's surprise restaurant turned out to be a nice Italian place. Everything was delicious, and we spent much of the meal talking. Afterwards, instead of going straight back to his place, we bought ice cream cones from the Baskin Robbins down the street. We walked around, window-shopping as we ate our dessert, laughing and holding hands. He slung his arm around my shoulders as we wandered back to the car. My own arm snaked around his waist, and I felt full and happy.

When we get back to his place, we sit on the couch in the living room and put in a DVD. He pulls me into his left side and I lean into him, and I'm so content I think I'm about to fall asleep. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. Apone starts stroking my hair with his right hand, making me open my eyes again. I lift my head and look at him. The intensity of his gaze sends a hot jolt through my stomach. I freeze, breathless with anticipation. He comes in closer, closer –

An angry buzz on the coffee table makes us both jump. Reluctantly, I pull away from him. We turn forward and see that it's my phone going off. Again. "Excuse me," I murmur and pluck it from the table. I rise from the couch and enter the kitchen to answer it. I don't need to glance at the screen to know it's the same number that's been calling all day. Now I'm seriously annoyed and I want to know who it is.

"Hello?" I don't bother to disguise my irritation.

"Andrea, baby, are you okay? I've been calling and calling…" That voice shocks me so much I have to throw out an arm and lean on the sink to keep from collapsing. The heat from seconds before is gone, swept away in a wave of cold.

"M-Mom?" I gasp.

"Where are you, Andrea?" She sounds like she's about to cry. "Why aren't you home?"

I don't know what to say. I hadn't told her I was leaving town. The lingering anger from her stealing my money had prevented me. But I can't tell her now and risk setting her off. She might get upset and hurt herself.

I hate that after everything she's done to me, I still want to protect her.

"Andrea? Are you there?" Yup. Definitely close to tears.

"Yeah, Mom. I'm here."

"You need to come home, Andrea," she pleads.

"I can't, Mom." She starts to protest, but I cut her off, "It's okay, don't worry, I'm safe. But I'm going to be gone for a while."

"How long, baby?" She sounds so small and confused, like a little girl. Like I'm the mom who's never home.

"I… I don't know, Mom." Meaning as long as it takes for me to want to come home. "I gotta go." I hang up before she can respond. Deliberately, I place the phone on the counter and rest my hands on either side of the sink. I lean over it and hang my head like I'm going to be sick. My stomach is certainly churning. I'm twenty years old. I should not have to worry about my mother. Normally I don't… I try not to… whatever she does to herself she deserves… but when she gets like this…

"Andrea?" I whirl around. Apone is standing at the other end of the kitchen. His confused expression twists into me like a knife. "Is everything okay?"

"Y-yeah," I stutter, "I'm just really tired, so I'm gonna go to bed… I'm sorry." I finish in a whisper. Lowering my head so I don't have to look at the hurt in his face, I flee upstairs.

...

This story is back - don't worry, for good this time. It's outlined until the end so more's definitely on the way. Thank you for being patient with me. Please review and keep a lookout.


	12. Chapter 12

WARNING: There's some lemon in this chapter. Nothing explicit, but just in case.

Startin' 2012 off right ;D Enjoy.

...

"That's fantastic, _chica_!" I press the phone to my ear, even though it hurts because my uncle just shouted. I want to bring his praise closer. "I'm so proud of you," he says.

"Thanks, _Tio_." I'm glowing, happy that I made him happy.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? I've been dying with suspense here."

"Sorry Uncle, I've been -," I want to say subdued, distracted, confused… something that will sum up how I've been feeling since my mother called me the other night. But he doesn't need to know, and I don't want him to worry, so instead I say, "busy."

"I bet. Apone's been showin' you around, huh?"

My heart starts racing at the mention of him, in equal parts of desire and dread. Desire because I know now I have feelings for him. Dread because of how I ran upstairs after my mother called. He must have thought I was an awful tease or – even worse – that I wasn't interested. Things have been about the same between us, however. He still treats me with the same charming politeness, though it's toned down a bit. Like he's being gentle with me.

"He's been treatin' you good, right?" My uncle's tone hardens.

"Yeah, _Tio_," I assure him, "He's been great."

"Good." The satisfaction in my uncle's voice makes me smile. "So when ya headin' home, chica? Customers come in asking for you but leave when I tell 'em you ain't here. You're driving me out of business, here."

"Hardly," I playfully retort, "You just need me to come wash a weeks' worth of dishes."

"Now that's not fair," he protests, "I've been washin' 'em all week all by myself. They sparkle when I'm done with 'em." We laugh. "Anyway, you still haven't answered the question."

"I… I don't know, Uncle. I really like it here. Besides, my car needs a rest. A cross-country drive and then a tournament? It's tired!" We laugh again.

"Well, you take your time then, _chica_. I'll see ya later."

"Bye, _Tio_." I hang up. Talking with him unsettled me kind of the same way talking with my mother did. Now I feel pulled back home for two reasons. I sigh and turn. Apone's in the middle of the garage where I left him, working on his prized Impala. My heart starts beating fast again. No matter how hard I'll be pulled home, I'll want to be rooted here even more.

"Who was that?" Apone asks, eyes on the front driver's side rim he's polishing, as I make my way back from the corner I'd been standing in.

"Uncle Oscar," I reply, perching myself back on the backseat. "He says hi."

Apone smiles but keeps working silently. I'm not sure if it's because of our new awkwardness or because he's paying more attention to his baby. _Probably a combination of both, _I think, and my mouth forms a smile of its own.

At length he asks, "So when ya headin' outta here?"

I scowl, "Why is everyone asking me that today?"

Apone's laugh echoes around the empty garage, "Is that why your uncle called?"

"Yeah, but I don't get why it's so funny," I frown down at him.

"Only that it was a pretty long phone call just for sayin' hi," he chuckles.

"Well, he did try to guilt-trip me into going back, wanted to know if you were chasing me off –,"

Apone looks up at me, his gaze so suddenly intense it robs the words from my throat and the breath from my lungs. "I would never, Andrea." His expression brightens as he stands, "If you don't ruin my backseat, that is."

"Gee, thanks, I'll keep that in mind," I say dryly as he kneels at the back tire, making him snicker again.

"So why not the big rush to go home, then?"

The question is innocent enough, but I hesitate. How could he comprehend how much more comfortable I feel here? For the past week I've hardly worried about my mother or the trouble I've caused my uncle. The weight that had been lifted off my shoulders was a relief beyond anything I could express. Here, I don't have to worry. Here, with him, I can be me. He wouldn't get it. I pull the sleeves of my pink zip-up hoodie down as far as they'll go, holding the ends in my fists. Wrapping my arms around myself, I whisper, "You wouldn't understand."

He looks up at me again, slowly this time. The expression I see in his eyes shames me. It's as if my words hurt him. Yet he's letting me see the pain. He's showing it when most would hide it.

"Try me," he murmurs, and I know that he wants to hear, to understand.

If he can be that honest with me, it's only right I do the same.

I take a deep breath and tell him my story. All of it. From the day my dad died in the crash all the way to the other night when my mother called. The entire time Apone is sitting on his heels on the garage floor, looking at me, listening.

"When Tio told me about the tournament, I was torn. I couldn't stay there anymore but I couldn't leave him, either. But he told me it was okay, and I did, and well, here I am." For the first time since I started talking, I look down at my knees. "I owe Uncle Oscar so much… he's practically raised me since my dad died. I guess he's become my dad now. But I won't go back for my mother. She's not my responsibility." I look up at Apone again. "I finally feel like myself here again. I don't have to worry about everything like I have been. I need to go back but I want to stay." My voice cracks and I turn away so he won't see how my eyes filled with tears.

I hear a shuffle, feel his fingers under my chin. I let him guide my face so I'm looking at him again. He's leaning in the open door, eyes gentle and smoldering.

"Do you want me to stay now?" Somehow it's important that I know this.

"Always," he whispers, and brings his lips to mine.

Fireworks explode in my stomach as our lips meet. Over and over again he kisses me. I uncross my arms and wrap them around his waist instead, pulling him to me. He moans softly as he gives in and gets pulled into my lap, his legs on either side of mine. His right hand twists into my hair as his left pushes me down so I'm laying on the backseat with him on top of me. My hands run up his chest, down his arms, grasp his hips, even as his hands follow the same trails around my body. The heat they leave behind leaves my skin burning with a fever, yet I kiss him as if I'm drowning.

He asks me if I want to, and I say yes.

I'd only had sex twice before (trust me, not worth mentioning), but this time I could tell it was going to be different. And I was right. Apone is gentle where the other guys weren't. He takes his time, making it a moment, where the other times were just quick ways to get off. But this… this is what making love felt like.

After we've spent all our passion, we lay in the backseat spoon-style, Apone cradling me from behind. The quiet that blankets us is the quiet of a garage: where everything is sleeping, dreaming of possibilities.

...

D'aww =3 Unfortunately my computer isn't fixed yet, but I've been writing a lot and going to the library to use their computers as well as my sister's. I'm hoping mine'll be fixed by next week. Please review, and please stay tuned!


	13. Chapter 13

Nothin' much to say here, so just enjoy =)

...

The next three weeks pass with all the speed and exhilaration of a sprint race. Apone and I were still spending time together between work and racing – as a couple. Sometimes we'd go out for walks, sometimes we'd just sit in and watch movies. The guys at the garage teased us, but they're happy for us.

Uncle Oscar was too, which slightly surprised me. When I told him about us, I could practically hear him smiling through the phone. "I'm happy for you, chica," was all he said. Even though I hadn't asked him to, he started sending me care packages. Just clothes at first, but often he would include one of my stuffed animals or a bag of my favorite candy, and I knew he was missing me. It was unspoken, but somehow we both knew I wasn't going back.

I came home late from a race one sultry night to find Apone asleep on the couch, the TV still blaring. I smile. He always waits up for me, but often falls asleep. My heart warms. I cross over to the couch, kneel in front of him, and touch his face, whispering his name. Slowly, his eyes open. He gives me a bleary smile as he grasps my left hand, the one on his cheek. He sits up, pulling me with him, and I climb onto his lap. My arms wrap around his neck as I nuzzle into him, his arms warm and strong against my back.

"How was the race?" he asks, voice low and gravelly with sleep.

"I won by about 6 seconds," I snort, "They never stood a chance."

Apone chuckles. "Hey, ya know what I found out today?"

"Hmm?" The warmth from his body is seeping into me, making me sleepy too.

"They're holdin' a big tournament in Detroit."

"Cool," I murmur, half asleep now, "We should take a road trip up there and watch."

"Actually, Dirt, I was thinkin' you should enter."

That jolts me awake. I pull away from him and look him in the eye. "It was hard enough leaving Uncle Oscar. I can't leave you, too."

"Your uncle didn't go nowhere, did he?" Apone grins.

"No," I admit.

"Neither will I." He reaches up and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.

"But I hold Uncle Oscar I'd be back in a few days and now look. It's a month later," I protest.

"Now what in Detroit could keep you from me for a month?" Apone cracks.

I don't smile. "You know what I mean."

His expression softens. "Andrea, your uncle knows that you gotta make your own choices, live your own life. I get that, too."

"So choose to come with me. Don't make me go without you," I plead.

He shakes his head. "I got the shop to run. Besides, my baby ain't ready yet."

"How could it not be ready?" I tease. "You've been working on it forever."

"Ya can't rush art," he reminds me breezily, before getting serious again, "Andrea, you got a talent for racing. I'd hate for you to waste it hangin' around here just for me."

"But I want to stay here! You mean just as much to me as racing!" I blurt, then blush, because of the sudden truth in my words.

He smiles. "I feel the same about you, Andrea. I won't push you if you don't wanna go. But just know that it don't matter what you decide. I'll be right here waitin' for ya." He cups my cheek and brings me in for a slow, passionate kiss.

I think over his words. My uncle gave me a little push out the door to come to Atlanta. And he hasn't complained once about my not coming home. He probably knows I need the space and freedom after living in fear for so long. But now that I've established those things for myself, I'm reluctant to leave them.

But isn't this what spreading your wings is all about? Taking new risks even though you're scared?

I break away from him. "You sure you'll be here?"

"Positive," he chuckles, before leaning back in.

...

D'aww ^^ Please review, and please stay tuned!


	14. Chapter 14

Moment of truth right hurr =3 Enjoy!

...

"Turn right," my GPS chirps. It's amazing how my nervousness doubles as I do so. I try to scold myself, but it's no use. It's too reminiscent of the feeling I used to get going back to my mother's house: the terrifying uncertainty of what I'd find.

_But this isn't your mother's house,_ part of me protests, _You know what you'll find. He promised. _It doesn't make me feel any better.

It's been exactly a week since I'd left: just enough time to get to Detroit, rest for a day before and after the tournament, then head back to Atlanta. I suppose my worry about what I'd find when I got back was partly why I didn't do as well as I should've. Still, I'd had a good time. I was just anxious to be back.

I make another right turn onto Apones' street. I park in front of his house and cut the engine. My heart pounds so loud in the following silence. I sit and gaze at the house for another moment. The porch light it on, glowing warmly in the dusk. Taking that as a good sign, I take a deep breath and get out of the car. I gather my bag from the backseat and head up the walkway. I pause at the front door, sorting through the keys on my Princess keychain with shaking fingers. Eventually I find the right one and fit it in the lock. The bolt comes back with a click. With another deep breath, I grasp the doorknob and twist.

"Hello?" I call tentatively as I push.

"In the kitchen, Dirt," a bright voice replies.

Deliberately I close and lock the door, drop my bag, and take off my shoes. Still slowly, I walk down the hall into the kitchen.

That's when I see Apone. He's at the stove, so his back is to me. He's wearing the outfit I first saw him in: white tank top tucked into the orange jumpsuit. The spicy, homey scent of chicken fajitas barely registers in my senses. I sag against the wall, relief rendering my knees useless. Though I'd heard him at the front door, I hadn't really believed he was here until I saw him. I guess by now I'm so used to disappointment that I wasn't able to believe until I saw it with my own eyes. _He's here. He kept his promise,_ is all I can think.

Apone turns and grins at me, "How'd you do?"

"Second," I manage, "I would've won but he took a shortcut I didn't see."

"Aw, but that's great! Don't worry, you'll get 'em next time." His expression softens, and he crosses over to me, arms open. I fall into him, and he folds me in close. I bury my face against his shoulder and breathe in his scent – laundry detergent and Axe - as he strokes my hair. "Welcome home, Andrea," he murmurs.

...

D'aww. ^^ Next chapter will be the last one! Please review and please stay tuned, loves.


	15. Epilogue

Finally, last chapter! Enjoy =3

...

One Year Later

"Done!" I sigh and push my chair away from the table. I raise my arms above my head and lean back, stretching triumphantly. My class schedule for the fall term, glowing on my computer screen, greets me when I straighten.

"Lemme see," Apone says, coming up behind me. He places my hand on my left shoulder and leans down to peer at my laptop. I turn and look at him instead, taking in his dark skin, bright eyes, thick lips. He still takes my breath away as if I were looking at him that first time all over again.

"This costs how much?" he yelps.

"I'm going full-time next semester," I remind him.

"Well, I'm just glad you're payin' and not me," he mutters.

I grin and ask, "Would you come if I paid for you, too?"

"Tempting, Dirt, but I've had enough of school for a lifetime. Besides, who'll run my shop?" He rubs my shoulder and looks at me affectionately, "I'm happy for ya, though." He pecks my cheek before returning to the counter to finish making our lunch.

My laptop closes with a light click and I gather it up and take it upstairs. My pocket vibrates just as I'm placing it on the desk. I pick up my phone, "Hey, _Tio_!"

What he tells me rocks me to the core. I collapse onto my bed and demand, "_What_ did you just say?"

Five minutes later, I'm shakily descending the stairs. Apone looks up from setting the sandwiches on the table. "What's up, Dirt?"

"It – it's my mother," I say, dazed, "_Tio_ says she's clean. She's been clean for three months and she just started working again. She's been asking _Tio_ about me."

Apone's face breaks into a grin. "That's great! Let's go visit 'em, then!"

"'Let's'? As in, you and me?"

"Who else?"

"But who'll watch your shop?" I tease.

"Oh, the guys'll be able to handle it," he counters flippantly, "For a few days, at least. Besides, I'd like to meet your mom."

It's my turn to grin now. I throw myself at him and hug him tight. "Thank you, Apone. Let's go this weekend!"

"Sure, Andrea." His voice is soft as he squeezes me back.

I unbury my face from his chest and smile up at him, raising myself on my toes to kiss his lips. Turning out of his arms, I race back up the stairs to decide what I'm packing. I'm finally going home, to the family I've yearned for all these years.

…

I watch Andrea run up the stairs and into her room. _Prob'ly to start packin' already_. I smile and reach into my pocket, feelin' the little black box there. I've been carryin' it around for a couple weeks, waitin' for the right time to give it to her. A weekend with her family – whole at last – seems a perfect time as any.

...

=3 Thank you everyone, for your patience with me while I figured this story out XD I know a year and a half is a rediculously long time and I didn't deserve that patience at all. I'm sorry, and I promise it won't happen again. Thank you for reading! 'Til next time.


End file.
